


Crown & Country: Britain

by cruisedirector, Dementordelta



Series: Crown and Country [4]
Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Bombs, Community: kings_speeches, England (Country), Escape, Intimacy, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Poetry, Religion, Romance, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Speech Disorders, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementordelta/pseuds/Dementordelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war changes everything, except the things that will never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> This story bears no relation to reality or even to the film's universe. It will also make no sense if you have not read at least parts one and two of the "Crown and Country" series, though this is darker than those.

The Palace walls shivered as the sirens began to wail, though Lionel knew that it couldn't be planes causing the tremors. The planes would not arrive so quickly. Since a bomb had fallen in the quadrangle, nearly killing the King and Queen, more lookouts had been posted to be certain that the royal family could be moved to safety -- or at least what safety could be found. Feet racing in the corridors created the thunder that could barely be heard over the persistent shrieking of the air raid alert.

"Come with me." Bertie had grasped Lionel's arm and tugged him to the door even before it opened by an anxious official whom Lionel didn't know, asking whether they needed assistance. The more important secretaries and equerries would already be headed below with the guests and staff, particularly today, when the princesses were in the Palace with their parents instead of in the relative security of Windsor Castle.

Though the air raid shelter was larger than any in Lionel's prosperous block, better lit and well-stocked for a siege, it smelled dank and dusty and felt more like a prison than a haven. Inside, Bertie had his own bedroom, as did the Queen, though when their girls were in residence they stayed with the nannies and tutors in a larger common area.

It was to the private bedroom that Bertie led Lionel, speech still in hand, after speaking briefly with various servants and officials who had made haste to the shelter. Since the murderous bombings had begun, the King's speeches were more important than ever. But they were more difficult than ever for him to deliver.

"I can't c-concentrate." Bertie kicked at the leg of his chair as the walls trembled around them. The papers in his hand shook as well.

"Try it again from the top. There won't be distractions like this when you give the speech." Lionel offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, allowing himself a single glance at the long crack in the ceiling. The palace was sturdy -- it had already survived several bombs -- and the air raid shelter was checked regularly to be certain that it was safe. They were as well-protected here as anywhere in London, though in truth there was no safety anywhere.

It was hard to remember the last time that Lionel had felt truly safe. When the bombs had begun to fall, and Lionel's patients had begun to disappear, he and Myrtle had gone to stay with friends outside the city. It had nearly driven him mad to be so far away from Bertie, unable even to speak to him by telephone when he heard that the king's private study had been shattered by an explosion. Though he knew that the palace was a target, Lionel preferred to be here, where he could know for certain that Bertie -- who was far too thin, and smoking too much -- was safe for the moment.

"I hope Margaret found her way to the shelter," fretted Bertie.

"Three people went to fetch her," Lionel reminded him, gesturing toward the door. He did not add that he had no way to know whether his own sons were safe, nor Myrtle, though he trusted that whether she had been at home or at the shops, she would have found her way below. Bertie had enough worries weighing on his mind. "Someone would have told you if anything was amiss."

"Everything is amiss." Unexpectedly, Bertie smiled at him. "Everything except you."

Lionel let himself return the smile. "I'm not as calm as I look." Since the war had begun, Bertie seemed to have aged years in a few months. It was good to see him smiling, no matter the reason. "I feel calmer when I can see that you're all right. Even at moments like this."

"It's very selfish of me. I should send you to Windsor with the girls." Setting down the speech, Bertie reached for Lionel's hand. "I suggested it to Lascelles, so that you would be safe when I needed you, but he reminded me that I am not your only pupil."

Lionel couldn't keep his eyebrows from lifting in surprise. Lascelles knew that there were few pupils at present -- the men were at war, the women taking their production jobs, the children sent from London. Perhaps the king's secretary knew that Lionel worked nights as an air raid warden and helped Laurie's family, now Valentine and Antony were gone to war and to university. Or perhaps the king's secretary was trying to prevent gossip, even now when there were so many other things to worry about.

Lionel had known, just as Bertie had, that those idyllic days on the outskirts of Balmoral could not last. The bombings had made it very difficult for Bertie to come to Lionel's office. Lionel found himself in the guilty position of hoping for an excuse for a speech -- which in these times nearly always meant a response to tragedy -- if only because it gave Bertie a reason to call for him.

Bertie had sat down on the bed, his gaze drifting past Lionel, focused on something far beyond the walls. "Those planes are destroying homes," he said. "They are destroying families, entire communities, while I sit here. What can I say against that? I can't even send those I love to safety. I can't let the girls leave England." His eyes moved back to Lionel's face. "I can't protect you."

Lionel sat beside him, one hand on his back, and after a moment Bertie's head came to rest on his shoulder. "It's a pity you can't sneak out in disguise to listen to your subjects speaking about what a comfort you are to them and how you inspire them," he told Bertie. "You must be able to see it when you visit the parts of the city that were hardest hit."

"Words. Not ever my strong point. That's all I can offer."

"Your presence alone is a gift. It's not the same when it's the Prime Minister. They look at you and see the spirit of Britain standing with them."

Bertie's head lifted, gazing at Lionel with dark circles under his eyes and new lines in his forehead. "A tired man who can't lead an army or do the only job for which he was ever trained in the navy. The spirit of Britain is not what it used to be. Is that what you see when you look at me?"

Memory superimposed itself like light streaming in through one of the cracks in the walls, Bertie in a patch of sun, in the grass and clean air of the mountains, racing to catch a glimpse of a buck they'd been too distracted to chase. Lionel shook his head to clear it, realized that Bertie was watching in the here and now. "You know what I see when I look at you," he said in a low voice. "The pupil who worked harder than any I have ever known. The prince who kissed me in an abbey and made me realize I loved him. The man to whom I swore devotion beyond this life."

For a moment Bertie's eyes glittered, then he blinked and found a smile. "I've stopped praying for impossible things -- if this war would end, it would be enough. But in our next life, when the world is safe, we're going to see it together."

Lionel had never stopped wishing for impossible things. Helplessly he let fantasy intrude, which came as easily as memory nowadays -- the never-forgotten promise of being far from here, on a yacht or in an igloo, with no walls, no people, just the two of them and the sky and the sea. Ever since Bertie had put the dream in his mind, he had turned to it during his darkest moments, and consoled himself with the thought that Bertie did the same thing.

Bertie's head had lowered as though the weight of the world were pressing down upon it, like Atlas in the Greek myths. "Come here," he said, extending a hand, sliding it across Bertie's slumping shoulders.

"I can't. We have to get this done. Once we're upstairs, I have a meeting with Churchill, and the American ambassador is..."

"Bertie. You can't keep your eyes open to read the words on that page. Come here."

No one else save perhaps the Queen ever spoke to the King thus. Lionel saw the momentary flare of temper in Bertie's tightened jaw before Bertie consciously moved his chin, swallowing, nodding. "You're right, as usual." Lionel watched as he lay back on the mattress, taking Lionel's hand. He did not let go. "Stay with me."

"I'm right here."

"I mean --" Bertie was kicking his shoes off, stretching out full-length on the small bed that filled half the space. "Stay with me here."

"If someone were to come in..."

"No one will come in without knocking unless the walls collapse. Then it won't matter if they find us together."

Slowly Lionel nodded. He didn't want to fight Bertie. Nor did he want to fight himself. He felt his own shoes slide to the floor as he pulled his legs up, letting Bertie tug him close. The bed was so small that Bertie had to lie with his back pressed to the wall to make room for Lionel. Bertie wriggled down so that his head was under Lionel's chin, face buried against Lionel's chest.

"Recite something for me," Bertie requested, his voice muffled by Lionel's arm around him.

Not Shakespeare, thought Lionel. This was not Henry V at Agincourt, preparing his men for an enemy who would stand before them. This was not Prospero facing a tempest of his own making.

"And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: 'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied: 'Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.' So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East."

Lionel knew that "God Knows" was one of Elizabeth's favorite poems, for she had told him so; more than once she had suggested that the King use it in a speech. He wondered as he spoke whether that made it inappropriate, whether he might be treading on marital or regal territory he should know better than to try to make his own. But he also knew that the words would resonate.

"That's lovely," Bertie murmured, his voice still hushed, pressed as he was against Lionel in the small bed. "Do you know the rest?"

"'So heart bestill: What need our little life, our human life to know, if God hath comprehension?'" Lionel's fingers moved through Bertie's hair. Even here, even now, with Elizabeth nearby in the shelter and the whole of Britain looking to the Palace for comfort, Lionel might have known that Bertie would welcome whatever words he offered. "'In all the dizzy strife of things both high and low, God hideth His intention.'"

Perhaps, in this cocoon of privacy, Bertie had wanted a love poem, but he sighed and relaxed into the embrace, even as, far off, another rumble announced the coming darkness. Bertie's shoulders did not tense as they so often did when he heard the horror approach. His breath was steady and even.

"Sweetheart?" whispered Lionel. A soft hum was his only reply. He rarely used the endearment in the Palace -- too dangerous -- though it was even more dangerous, now, to say it elsewhere, to risk Bertie traveling to Lionel's home or office, to risk sneaking away at Sandringham during a holiday. The cottage at the edge of the known world was likely lost to him; by the time this war ended, Lionel knew, he would be an old man.

He slid his fingers through Bertie's hair, felt the lack of resistance in Bertie's neck, and realized that despite the wail of the sirens and the shaking of the earth, Bertie had fallen asleep. Lionel didn't like to cling, now that Bertie had so many other people making demands, needing the King's presence and comfort, yet he let himself wrap both arms around Bertie and hold him close, keeping Bertie's head between his chin and chest, as if they were in Scotland or in Heaven, far from the war and the world as it was.

He awoke some undetermined time later. Bertie was stroking his cheek, smiling, his face very close. The lines etched in Bertie's forehead had faded; he looked nearly as he had before the war. For a moment Lionel let himself imagine that they might be in his office or back in the Highlands, just waking from an afternoon nap after making love all morning.

"That's the best I've slept in longer than I can remember," whispered Bertie conspiratorially, smiling again, his fingers brushing Lionel's face. "We need to do this more often."

"You're the king -- surely you can insist on regular air raid drills." Returning the smile, Lionel lifted his head. "How long has it been?"

"At least an hour. I can hear Campbell outside debating whether to interrupt us. I suppose that if he does, we had better be rehearsing the speech."

With a soft laugh, Lionel sat up. The laugh turned to a groan as his joints protested, and Bertie looked concerned for a moment before he, too, chuckled. "We must be getting old."

"Never say that. Royalty is ageless. And you're as handsome as ever." Lionel waited for Bertie's smile before picking up the discarded pages of the speech, pressing them into Bertie's hand while he leaned up to press a kiss to Bertie's mouth.

"'In all the dizzy strife of things...'" began Bertie, catching Lionel's hand to keep him close. "You are my anchor. Elizabeth has been an angel, but she still somehow manages to live in a world of white dresses and hats and patronage, and she can't abide my temper. None of them know me as you do. I'm sorry if I've been too caught up in things to love you as you deserve."

The tears rose faster than Lionel could will them back, welling in his eyes as he looked at Bertie. "You've given me far more than I ever dreamed. You must know that there's no place I would rather be than with you. If it must be in a bomb shelter, so be it."

"I can stand it if you can. I have Elizabeth at my side when I must go and see what the bombs have done, and I have you waiting when I must speak to the people. I only need to be reminded how lucky I am, beloved."

Lionel tried to hum a few bars of "They Can't Take That Away From Me" but found the notes warbled from the thickness in his throat. "I'm the lucky one," he said, wiping his eyes. "I would choose to be here even if the worst happens."

"Don't speak of that. I'll see that you're protected. Just as you've always protected me." Bertie glanced at the door, beyond which Lionel, too, now could hear conversation. "I'll tell them that we need to rehearse this tomorrow for several hours. We'll be entirely alone."

Bertie couldn't make such promises, of course -- there could be bombings or a transatlantic phone call, he needed to spend time with Churchill, and with his daughters -- but Lionel beamed at him nonetheless. "I'll wait," he declared. "For as long as necessary."

A knock summoned them both to their feet. Lionel knew that his clothes were rumpled and the bed was mussed beneath the scattered pages of the speech, but the king's secretaries had other matters on their minds. A calm monarch ready to do his duty was of far greater importance to them than the impropriety of an Australian outsider offering his devotion to the king.

"It's over, sir. The Prime Minister will be waiting."

Bertie turned to give Lionel one more smile that was entirely for him. "Tomorrow," he said again, in the tone of a command but with a nod that made it a promise. Then they stepped out of the dark bedroom into the equally dark central space of the shelter, like the whole of London, a place braced for attacks by incomprehensible evils. A place where faith and love shone with the only light.


	2. World Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world changes, the children grow, yet neither age nor time can diminish what's most important.

The ageless hills of the north bore no signs of the calamity that had engulfed the whole of Britain for so many years. Even the early frost and the biting chill of the air felt clean and invigorating.

Of course, Lionel would have welcomed any weather that greeted him when he arrived at the station from which one of the castle's men retrieved him with a warm greeting, as though Lionel were an old friend, though Lionel had only ever been inside the castle to help the King with speeches and knew few of the people who worked there. He suspected that most of Bertie's staff had their own ideas about what the King and his speech therapist did when they disappeared into the gamekeeper's cottage, but they all kept up the same story about the King's enthusiasm for shooting.

The Queen herself had been known to brag about her husband's skill as a hunter. Indeed, Bertie was out stalking rabbits when Lionel arrived, which gave Lionel time to change out of his traveling clothes and have some tea. He did not wish to remind anyone of his age by mentioning that even luxurious travel had become exhausting for him.

And he forgot the ache in his bones when Bertie greeted him with the smile that always made Lionel forget the fifteen years and vast gulf in status that separated them. At home, he grew tired from small chores, for although he had a housekeeper and had had a nurse in the days after his operation, the thought that Myrtle would never again refill his teacup or brush dust from his coat made him choke up a bit every time he performed simple actions such as those.

Yet Bertie had always made him feel young, though Bertie was looking weary himself despite the end of the war. The tumultuous if peaceful changes in Parliament were no more distressing to the King than the fact that his little girls were becoming women. Lilibet had invited the Greek prince to stay at the castle and Margaret Rose had been making eyes at her father's equerry. Lionel's sons had become more independent at younger ages, but Lionel supposed that it was different with boys, and different when one had a wider circle of acquaintances, so different than the isolated royal family.

"I'm afraid it's too cold for a swim," Bertie said, rubbing his hands together as they walked through the tall grass to the place that Lionel would always think of as their private hideaway no matter who else might have used it during their long absences. "We'll have to stay inside and make a fire."

A few years earlier, an evening in front of the fireplace would have meant making love half the night, though now it would more likely take them half the night just to be ready, which didn't bother Lionel. He hadn't been completely alone with Bertie in many weeks, between the government changes and the fact that Bertie was determined to spend time with his daughters while he could. Though Bertie still called Lionel about speech preparations, he knew that he could get through them without Lionel present. Elizabeth had suggested that he deliver his Christmas broadcasts with his family around him, and Bertie had bowed to her wishes -- a public display of unity that Lionel could not begrudge, since she had been so generous about sharing Bertie in other ways.

"I always feel a bit like a pirate when we sneak away together," confessed Bertie with a giggle, pushing open the door to the cottage where Lionel's bag had already been brought by a valet.

"A pirate!" Laughing, Lionel waved his sword arm and growled a bit. "I suppose we do a bit of pillaging, but we haven't plundered any treasure."

Shaking his head, Bertie chuckled, following Lionel into the kitchen and leaning against a chair to stretch his foot out. Bertie's legs had been bothering him -- trouble with the veins, his doctors had said, though Lionel suspected a deeper cause, recalling that Bertie's father and grandfather had both had heart and lung ailments that Lionel put down to to many cigarettes. "You're wrong. You stole my heart. Though you made it a better heart, so I cannot complain."

"I thought I won it fairly." Smiling, Lionel reached for the kettle, though there was a bottle of whisky waiting on the table. He had more need of tea than anything stronger. "I would rather have your heart than gold. And I've given you mine -- it speeds up when I see you, and it breaks a bit when I can't."

Bertie's hand slid over his arm as Lionel set the kettle on the stovetop. "Even when we're not together, my heart beats for you. Always know that I'm thinking of you, love, no matter where duty takes me. You mustn't let your heart break. I couldn't bear it."

"When I'm with you, it's hard to remember that I have ever been unhappy." Lionel gave him a reassuring smile. "It isn't easy, getting old."

"You are not old." Bertie snorted faintly. "And I would rather grow old with you than be young forever. When I was younger, I never knew how to be happy until you gave me my voice."

"I did not give you your voice. I only helped you to use it in an official capacity. You did all the hard work, of which I am rightly proud." That pride was not without mixed emotions -- though Lionel had claimed to be pleased with Bertie's independence, he had known that it meant they would have fewer excuses for contact. The terror that one day Bertie would not come back had long since faded, but that didn't make it any easier to wake and face the days alone when Bertie was busy with his duties and his family, even now with the war ended.

"It has been a grand summer, has it not?" asked Bertie, looking out the little window near the sink. "I'm sorry it's turned cold so early. We shall have to come up earlier next summer for a proper grand adventure."

The next summer, Bertie might well be on a tour of the British Commonwealth of Nations and Lionel might well be busy with a new grandchild, but Lionel pushed that thought aside, passing Bertie a cup. "Shall we toast to our grand adventure -- and to many more to come?" Lionel had been fortunate enough to have several grand adventures, seeing America, sailing around the world, though none could compare to the one he had undertaken here in this quiet cottage. "Have some fruit. It's still sweet."

Unexpectedly Bertie's mouth descended upon his. "It always tastes sweeter when we share it."

"Everything is better when we share it. Even sleep. Especially afternoons like this." Though Lionel's tired legs urged him to sit, he remained on his feet leaning against Bertie, who preferred to stand to encourage his circulation. Bertie's arm came round his waist, and he murmured, "And our pirate hearts."

"I love when you tell me all the things in your heart." Lionel felt his face growing warm. He always meant to be eloquent when he spoke words of love to Bertie, to find the perfect quote from literature, but no one had written the perfect expression of his feelings and Lionel was certainly no poet. Grinning a bit as if he knew what Lionel was thinking, Bertie added, "I love when you show me, too."

"You don't mind if I'm not as creative as I once was?"

Laughing, Bertie shook his head. "I've slowed down as much as you have. More, perhaps. I still treasure every moment we can share like this, even if I can only gaze at you."

"I'm not much to look at these days." Lionel chuckled ruefully. "A weathered old pirate who spirited away a prince."

"Oh, hush. I love looking at you. I love every inch of your face." Bertie kissed his chin. "And the rest of you. All of which is mine. I'm the pirate -- I've brought you here to ply you with drink and have my way with you. If we had time, I'd sail you to the ends of the earth."

Lionel felt his chest tighten. He hid his face against Bertie's shoulder. "You know I would follow you anywhere. This pirate loves you more than the sea and the stars."

With a soft moan, Bertie swayed away from the table as if they were dancing on a heaving ship at sea. "I love when you say such things. Just stay here and I'll be the happiest prince who ever lived. We can sail to the ends of the earth in our next lives -- we pledged it."

"We did, and I will always hold to it and do everything I can to make you happy." Lionel lifted his head as Bertie spun them, waltzing toward the bedroom, which was as close as they would come in this life to running away together. "I love being here alone with you, where I never need to watch what I say."

"You know I must kiss you when you say such things." Bertie's mouth descended, knocking them both into the arch between the rooms, which made them groan and left them breathless though Bertie hadn't stopped smiling once. "You keep telling me you're getting old, but I can still feel the passion in your kisses."

"That will never change. Not since the first kiss."

"My heart was beating so fast..." Bertie shivered in remembered pleasure. "As soon as I realized that you were going to let me. Then once my lips touched yours I never wanted to stop." His fingers slid into Lionel's hair. "If the bells hadn't rung, I'd have kissed you all night."

"We'd have done more than kiss that night." Laughing, Lionel pressed closer. "I nearly went off in my trousers as it was."

"Oh, I do love knowing that." Bertie whimpered softly. "I hoped I was having the same effect on you as you had on me. I'd never known such perfect joy -- until the next time we kissed."

Smiling, Lionel slid his hand around the back of Bertie's neck. "The next time was better. The first time I wasn't sure what it meant. The next time I knew."

"It meant you loved me as much as I loved you." Bertie's lips pressed Lionel's again, kissing him lingeringly. "We both deserve this happiness, the more so because we share it. I loved our lessons -- seeing you every day, getting to touch you, gaining confidence, even before I knew that I was falling in love -- but now I know I shall carry that feeling for the rest of my life, even if I can't see you every day."

Lionel had always hoped to find a way to remain part of Bertie's life without needing Bertie to be his patient -- he had been certain from early on that the Duke of York would overcome the stammer with the hard work and determination that he brought to the office, and could not have guessed, then, that one day he would become the speech therapist to the King. "You just promised me your next life," he said as if indignant.

"Forever won't be long enough. We need so many more lifetimes to celebrate, in every possible way." Bertie's eyes crinkled in the corners. He nudged Lionel through the passage. "Several times a day."

"If we were younger, love, you know we'd have celebrated the moment the door shut behind us."

Bertie moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut. "I love every single time. I never wanted to do it constantly when I was young as I did when we first came here. You brought out passion I didn't know I could feel." Whoever had stocked the kitchen had also turned down the covers, though Lionel noticed with some amusement that the fold-out bed had not been set up. Sitting, Bertie pulled Lionel beside him. "I love telling you about it, because you made it possible for me to say so much."

"'A hundred years should go to praise/Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze,'" murmured Lionel. The later lines of Marvell's poem came to him, _yonder all before us lie/Deserts of vast eternity_ , threatening to haunt the joyous mood. "Enough talk. Kiss me."

"I shall never refuse that request." There was only happiness on Bertie's face as he leaned in. Banishing all fears about age and illness, Lionel closed his eyes, feeling Bertie's chest still firm where Lionel had urged him to strengthen his diaphragm, Bertie's skin still taut as Lionel's fingers pushed aside his clothing. As ever, love worked miracles, crowding out fear, erasing the effects of time, until there was only laughter and pleasure that had not diminished since the beginning.

"You spoil me," Bertie said, much later, when the room was fully dark and growing chilly because neither of them had risen to turn on the lamp or light the fire. "You take care of me and pamper me better than anyone ever did. You're splendid at everything that matters."

"Not true. I'm rubbish as a cook, and we both know it."

Bertie chuckled. "You can fry an egg and melt cheese on toast. That's all I care about. I would rather have your cheese toast than anything that comes out of the palace kitchens."

"You're quite biased, but at least you're also easy to please." Stretching, Lionel discovered that the muscles which had felt tired and aching a few hours earlier were now relaxed. "I suppose I must be as well. I didn't know men my age could feel like this."

"We'll always keep each other young." The bed heaved as Bertie shifted, dropping a kiss on Lionel's shoulder before reaching to switch on the lamp. "Besides, you keep me so happy that I won't mind growing old if I can do it with you."

Lionel looked at him in the dim light. There had been a time when he had feared that he would become an old man while Bertie remained young, perhaps growing disinterested -- Lionel had begun to look like the father figure he had feared that Bertie truly needed, not a lover -- but the war and poor health had aged Bertie prematurely, which should have made Lionel feel unhappy, not relieved. However much he regretted his own aging, he dreaded the idea that Bertie might go first.

"I will gladly give you all the time I have," he told Bertie.

"Your time, and your words, and your touch. I need to be near you like this. I will always find a reason to have you here." Bertie shivered rapturously. "You always gave me hope. Now you give me so much more."

Liking the sound, Lionel slid both hands through Bertie's hair, kissing his cheek. "You know I'll give it to you as often as you let me. You gave me hope as well. That you gave me love was beyond imagining."

He felt Bertie's head turn to kiss his fingers and Bertie's mouth encounter the ring that Lionel only wore when he knew he would see Bertie, not anyone who might ask about it. Bertie's lips turned up against his palm. "I love knowing that you know exactly how I feel about you. A love like ours needed vows between us. Though I love every way we express it."

"You mean that we can never keep our hands off each other, even when we should light a proper fire and have a proper meal?"

Laughing, Bertie nodded. "I can't help it. I love when you hold me like this. Touching you is the purest joy I know."

"You saying such things to me is the purest joy I know." Lionel found that he had to look away and blink. "That, and the fact that you want to spend time here together. That you make this possible."

"It's only the truth. I treasure every moment I can spend with you. We shall have a life together, for as long as possible, then the next life. You promised." Bertie rubbed his cheek over Lionel's. "I shall need forever to tell you that because of you, I'm able to do what I need to do as King and tell my daughters what they mean to me and show you that you make me feel like the luckiest man in the world."

Safe in Bertie's arms, Lionel took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh. "No, I am the luckiest man in the world. You can be the luckiest king if you like."

Bertie gave him an exuberant squeeze. "As King, I will share the title of the luckiest man in the world, but only because I love sharing everything with you. And because we've made so much possible together."

It was enough, thought Lionel, feeling selfish because he wanted both lives -- the one they had and the one they could have had, had they been born under different circumstances, in a different world. "I want an eternity of possibilities," told Bertie, squeezing back.

"Perhaps you'll be my king in our next life." Once more the corners of Bertie's eyes crinkled. "Or we'll be very dull and ordinary men, though I don't suppose we'd have a cottage like this if we were. We'll have to sneak in, like pirates..."

As Bertie continued to speak, rising to light the fire, Lionel felt joy blooming across his features. Here, with the war ended, back in this place of miracles, with Bertie, he knew that even if this did turn out to be the only life they had, he would still feel like the luckiest man in the world.


End file.
